A story told
as a sonnet redouble
by Joe Haldeman
The first time that I died was fire and
ice. Cancer fire, as pain drugs lost
their hold...I old them go ahead and
throw the dice; surrender to the cryogenic
cold these old and torn, worn and stitched
remains of the body that I so gladly
wore through one life's, the first life's,
pleasures and pains. Temporary death.
Ice to freeze those sores. If it's real
death, then it is nothing more. The chance
of death was figured in the price: the
price that left my heirs a little poor.
But I would rather put my life on ice...
I'm old enough to know what life is worth--quite
old, but still too young for ash or earth.
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